you & i (entropy)
by TheVerbalThing ComesAndGoes
Summary: Getting over her was never easy, though he's beginning to learn that it probably never will be. And while she tells herself all she wants is for him to be happy, she still hasn't been able to figure out why she can't let the idea of "them" go. Lit, AU.
1. yearning

you & i (entropy)

Summary: Getting over her was never easy, though he's beginning to learn that it probably never will be… and she tells herself she wants him to be happy - while she still has no idea why she can't let the idea of "them" go. Literati, AU, future-ish

Disclaimer: don't judge me for using Kanye West lyrics. They fit.

**A/N**: So I'm probably working on about 4 or 5 projects (some fanfic related, some not) simultaneously, but this is the idea that just kept growing and seems to be working in a way that keeps me focused. So, yay, for that.

* * *

**i'm not loving you (the way i wanted to)**

_"Jess."_

_She sighed, shaking her head. She gripped his shoulder in a way that must have been painful, had to leave a mark, but he said nothing. He didn't do anything besides pull her face back towards his and kiss her, harder, deeper._

"_Jess," she sighed again._

"Rory?"

She blinks, suddenly realizing that her throat has gone dry and her chest is tight, almost painfully constricting, as she tries to force her mind to come back to the present. She blinks again, but the image of Jess, standing maybe ten or twelve feet away from her, doesn't disappear.

He's here.

"You alright?"

Rory shakes her head in an attempt to escape the question but still can't bring herself to look away from him. She rubs the back of her neck, nervously, feeling her palms become moist and clammy. "Yes," she stammers unconvincingly, "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"Because you were already a fairly good stand in for Snow White and now you're practically Casper."

"I'm fine," she insists, although 'lies' is probably a more accurate description. Or, it would have been anyway. But she makes the mistake of looking away a little too late and, of course, this doesn't go unnoticed by Lorelai.

"Oh. You knew he was coming right? I mean, I thought everything between the two of you was okay now."

"Of course it was. _Is_. It's fine."

"Rory, you know you can tell me if—"

"Mom, it's fine, I swear."

And it is—she knew he was coming; she just hadn't realized how unprepared she was to see him. And Rory certainly hadn't been expecting to feel so…overwhelmed when she saw Jess again.

And she also wasn't expecting for him to be here alone.

Her eyes shift to his left side, then to his right, then back to his left again, expecting (but not hoping) to see The Girlfriend, who she has heard about in the snippets of conversations Luke's had with Jess that Rory couldn't resist eavesdropping on. But he's alone. She tells herself that it shouldn't matter at all that he's come here alone.

She's positioned herself in front of the punch bowl (secretly hoping to be the first to see him when he arrives), nervously rotating the ring resting on the chain of her necklace between her fingers. Rory catches sight of him just as he walks toward the gifts table; she watches him as he carefully steps to the side, keeping Miss Patty at a respectable distance, and thoughtfully places a gift bag on the table. He hasn't seen her yet and she wonders if she should take that as her cue to leave.

Rory takes a step back, ready to turn and leave this potentially awkward moment behind before it even has the chance to begin, but as her luck would have it, Jess chooses that moment to look up and locks gazes with her. Rory freezes on the spot, biting down on her bottom lip as she struggles to decide whether or not she wants to be the one to make the first move. She wishes he would, wishes he could make this moment easier on her, on the both of them, by being the one to take that first step. But she realizes as she thinks back to the last time she saw him, that he doesn't have to do that. He doesn't _owe_ her anything. (Not this time.)

Her breath hitches in her throat when he looks back at her, his gaze shifting up, down, and back up again. Her throat constricts and she feels her face flush with heat; nerves and doubt making her palms sweaty.

It shouldn't mean so much to her that he came here alone. It shouldn't.

It's been almost two years since they last saw each other and thinking about what happened between them and what he meant—_means_—to her shouldn't still affect her. At least, not like this. She looks away when she starts to remember how it feels to kiss him and Rory closes her eyes, startled by the sadness and longing that hits her when she realizes that she will probably never experience that feeling again.

It _shouldn't matter_ that, for whatever reason, he's decided to come here alone. It shouldn't make a difference to her, one way or the other.

(But it does.)

* * *

Getting over her was never easy. (He's beginning to learn, though, that it will probably never be easy.)

But, Jess Mariano has always been known for being relentlessly stubborn and his efforts, though they could only be described as hopelessly futile, hadn't exactly steered him towards the path of a monastic lifestyle.

In the end, all he was left with was a string of meaningless non-relationships that were, at best, less than fulfilling but served for their purpose as a momentary distraction. Not that it mattered, he only went to them in an effort to ease the bruise that still remained from the last meaningful relationship he had. (And, yes, Jess knew exactly how pathetic and pitiful that made him.)

There was Cecilia, the girl who stole (forks, mostly); Angela, the girl who lied about everything (even about things that held no consequence, like say, her favorite color or what she had for breakfast); and Julie, the girl who reminded him so much of Rory that it physically hurt (needless to say, they didn't last long). He stumbled through a series of one night stands whose names he couldn't remember until the emptiness of those non-relationships began to feel hollow (and he got sick of them and himself) and so began his self-imposed sabbatical from a relationship—physical or otherwise—with anything remotely female.

So, of course, as his fucked up timing and karma would have it, it was less than a month into his furlough when he met Johanna. But it was hard to be any sort of indifferent to her when he first saw her. She walked into Truncheon mid-afternoon in a business suit—which he would give her crap for later, after they were together for a few months—but, honestly, he didn't even care; he was probably too busy drooling to notice. The suit was cut as if it were made to be worn by her and her alone, a skirt snug and loose in just the right places, its hem ending somewhere above her knees and a pearl-white v-necked camisole underneath her fitted jacket. Her spiked heels made her legs seem endless and set her at a height that was level to his.

He's pretty sure his jaw dropped to the floor the moment he saw her, his eyes glued to her figure as she introduced herself to Matt.

When she reached Jess, she smiled politely, but lingering. She placed her hand in his, squeezing lightly as her lips quirked into a smile.

"Johanna Alvarez," she introduced herself. Her dark brown eyes still held his, her hand still gripped his hand.

"Jess. Mariano," he added as an afterthought.

His "female sabbatical" went out the window the moment she told him and Matt that she'd just left her job because she was tired of being associated with "the literary equivalent of those Jennifer Aniston movies". She wanted originality and heart, she wanted soul, she wanted different.

There was a gleam and a look in her eyes that he recognized: the need for a new start; a second chance. (He knew then that he was hooked and didn't stand a chance at resisting.)

"Jess doesn't have a heart, or a soul, but he's from New York so that isn't entirely his fault," Matt joked.

"Hey, it's a good thing she came here after I'd already vetoed 'Cedar Bar Redux' as the name for this place - which was _your_ idea, by the way."

She laughed at that, and Jess found himself grinning (a rarity) when she asked confidently, "So when do you guys need me to start?"

He showed her the rest of the place and they flirted over stacks of books and rows of magazines. They argued and debated about the merits of self-publishing versus mass marketing. She did most of the talking (for which he was grateful) and he found himself loving the way her lips moved when she said his name. Conversation was easy and light and anything but an angst-filled diatribe. (But he still felt his chest constrict with panic when she murmured _"you can tell me anything"_.) He was the one who made the first move, an open mouthed kiss that quickly morphed into him pressing her against the back of the couch. It was (almost) easy to forget about the last girl who sat there.

(_"I've never really done this before,"_ Johanna whispered, her lips brushing against his, and, unlike all the others women before her, he believed her.)

Jess wasn't at all prepared for the emotional upheaval and the toll a commitment—a _real _commitment—would take on him and so he had absolutely no intention of starting a serious relationship and every intention of keeping their tryst as a one night stand. (Not exactly noble, but then again, that's nothing he's ever claimed to be.)

But he woke up the next morning, got some coffee, started fixing a second cup without really thinking about it and then, he just couldn't ask Johanna to leave. He didn't _want_ to ask her to leave. So, she stayed for a weekend. He liked how she looked in his bed, liked how she felt laying next to him, how she looked wearing nothing but his Rhodes Kill T-shirt (or the smug smile she would get after his reaction to her wearing nothing at all). He loved the lilt of her voice, the way her accent made its presence known when she said things like _"hello",_ _"it's chilly out"_, and _"I love you"_. (She said it first, and he was surprised by just how difficult it was for him to say it back, how much he'd tried to convince himself that he could be the one to say it first, without it preceding some emotional upheaval or desperate ultimatum, but when the moment came, he just..._couldn't_.)

Standing now on the recently manicured lawn of the Dragonfly Inn, locked in a stare with Rory, Jess suddenly realizes how simple and easy his relationship with Johanna has been so far. (He wouldn't say effortless, but it's been pretty damned close.)

Rory looks beautiful, but that's nothing new, and neither is the dull ache Jess feels somewhere in his chest when she meets his gaze. It would be easier to deal with this moment if he wasn't reminded of the last time they were in the same room and where it landed them. (Here.)

He isn't desperate or naïve enough to think that they can be friends after what happened between them during that weekend in Philadelphia. (But he knows their relationship is anything but finished. He doesn't know if and when it ever will be.)

She stands stock still; she doesn't move forward, doesn't say anything, but neither does he.

He tries, but every time he looks at her and opens his mouth, he thinks of the slope of her naked back in the moonlight of his room, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered good-bye, leaving him bereft of a response while she assumed he was sleeping. The thought, the memory, is enough to make him sick to his stomach, but being in her presence, seeing her is intoxicating enough on its own. It is enough to make him forget, for a moment, that she is capable of hurting him as much as she is capable of bettering him.

* * *

There are no rings or talks of wedding plans, but there is a smile on his lips when he speaks of her, The Girlfriend, there's a look in his eyes that Rory can recall only seeing once before. (With her.) She doesn't ask why he didn't bring the woman he speaks so highly of. She doesn't - _can't - _care. Rory closes her eyes, fiddles with the necklace around her neck until her fingers are cramping with discomfort when she overhears Jess mention that _she's_ in publishing, too, and Rory finds herself wondering if this girl actually likes Hemingway.

Rory wonders if she's pretty (if she's prettier than _her_); needs to know if she's smart. (And, yes, Rory knows exactly how petty that makes her sound.) And then she insists to herself, _of course she is. _Jess wouldn't talk about her voluntarily, otherwise.

She bites down on her lip when he tells Luke that they've been together for almost a year. (_"Best year he's had lately"_, apparently.) If it's so easy for him to move on from what happened between them, then why can't she? What's _wrong _with her?

She twists and turns the necklace around her finger as she tells herself, _again_, that all she wants is for him to be happy. (But, even to herself, the words sound and feel hollow.) She tells herself that she made the right decision, for both of them, by walking away - Rory simply underestimated how much it would hurt to _see_ him happy, when she had nothing to do with it.

She realizes then that, whether it was her intention or not, she lied to him. Two years ago, she kissed him like there was no more Logan, she let him hold and touch her like tomorrow meant the possibility of more, but not of her leaving. She never _wanted_ to lie to him, she'd always planned on telling Jess the truth, but nothing that happens between the two of them ever goes according to the way she planned them to.

She's looking at him while she gives her toast and feels her body flush with heat when he doesn't look away this time. She isn't drunk, though, so she knows that isn't the reason.

(And neither is he.)

She's been keeping an eye on him since he got here, so she knows he started a beer but never actually finished it. They don't break eye contact as she finishes up her toast with a congratulations and best wishes to her mother and Luke.

It'd be so much easier to blame her actions, her behavior, on inebriation, to be able to say that she wasn't thinking straight, that her mind wasn't in the right place. (But, she figured, the only thing more pathetic than mooning over an old boyfriend at a wedding rehearsal was mooning over an old boyfriend at a wedding rehearsal while simultaneously drinking yourself into a coma. And there are levels, degrees, to being pathetic - some of which even she isn't willing to stoop to.)

So, she isn't drunk (but she still has no idea what the hell she's doing, or _why _she just can't let it— let the idea of "them"—go).

He nods his head in the direction of the inn, and before she even registers what she's doing, Rory nods her head in agreement. She knows they need to talk, clear the air, but that doesn't make her any less nervous about being in a room alone with him. She looks away, for just a moment, makes up a lie to her mother about the champagne running right through her and she looks up to catch him heading inside. She slips the key to room #9 off its hook and holds her breath as he follows her upstairs.

* * *

review?


	2. ardor

you & i (entropy)

Summary: Getting over her was never easy, though he's beginning to learn that it probably never will be… And she tells herself she wants him to be happy - while she still has no idea why she can't let the idea of "them" go. Literati, future, AUish

** A/N: **i have no idea as to why this chapter took me so long (other than unrelated life stresses) as the majority of it was already written...forgive me? by the way, moments in italics are past tense. also, had to change the rating, so just a forewarning.

reviews/opinions are more than welcome, though I figured that almost goes without saying. enjoy reading, all.**  
**

* * *

**what i had to do, i had to run from you**

_"Stay," he insisted and either she didn't believe he meant it or she didn't want to because she shook her head once, twice, three times, even as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back towards him. _

_"Jess..."_

_"You can stay," he repeated quietly in between placing scattered kisses on her shoulder blades, "if you want to." __It was easier, somehow, making himself vulnerable, taking this chance with her when he didn't have to see the expression in her eyes. __His palm skimmed her hip and he felt her shiver against his touch. "Do you want to?" He tried not to sound hopeful, didn't want to add any undue pressure and ruin the moment.  
_

_"Do you really want me to?" she countered. She turned in his arms to face him, shifting to face him so that he couldn't hide from her anymore. "I mean, you're not just saying that because-"  
_

_"Yes. I want you to."_

_"...Okay." She wrapped her leg around his hip, and then, with a moan and a sigh that seemed to flow through her entire being, they were together again.  
_

Jess shakes his head, in an almost desperate and definitely futile attempt to keep his mind from obsessing about the past and to stay more focused on the present.

He wishes he could say that the only reason he's thinking - and over thinking - of that night is because he's in Stars Hollow, _her_ hometown, and standing within a ten foot radius of where she is. God, he wishes. His life would be so much easier if only it were simply an issue of proximity. But he's not that lucky. (Never has been, probably never will be.)

But the truth is, he's been thinking about her, about them and that night, sporadically and without warning at least three or four times a month.

"Jess." He tries not to flinch at the sound of Luke's voice, the sudden and unexpected feel of his uncle's hand clapping against his back at the space between his shoulder blades, literally pulling him out of his thoughts. Admittedly, he is torn between feeling grateful for the rescue while still wanting just one more second to revel in the memory.

"It's good to see you, man. Glad you could make it."

"Well, I didn't want to miss a historical moment. Luke Danes finally mans up and gets Lorelai Gilmore to marry him? Gold." The snark and spiteful bite is gone from his sarcastic tone, though, and Jess admits (only to himself) that it is good to see Luke smile with such ease.

"Where's Johanna?"

He really wishes his gaze hadn't shifted to Rory in the middle of Luke's question. She's turned away from him, though still unmoving from her post in front of the punch bowl. Jess shakes his head and tells himself, again, to focus on the conversation. "She... couldn't make it. Had a family thing. Got you a gift, though."

"Been a year, huh?"

He forces himself to smile as he replies, "Best one I've had lately." (And it doesn't feel like a lie - not completely; it was just so much easier to convince himself that everything with Johanna was going great when there weren't any other distractions.)

"...You okay?" The look on Luke's face could be described as questioning, at best, and Jess realizes that he needs to do a better job of acting as though he's unaffected by Rory's presence.

"Never better," Jess responds uneasily. (This time, the lie is felt wholeheartedly.)

His seat is right next to hers - apparently, he hasn't completely atoned for his asshole behavior towards the end of his teenage years during his time in Stars Hollow and this has to be his penance, some twisted notion of karmic retribution - making it that much harder for him to keep his distance, and maintain perspective. Jess wraps a warm hand around a cool bottle of Heineken, takes one sip and ultimately decides that his heart isn't in it so he sets the bottle off to the side. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Rory toying with a folded napkin in her lap, and Jess can't help but notice the way she turns toward him, every so often, opening her mouth as if to say something before seeming to change her mind at the last second and clamping it shut.

When she stands up to give her obligatory speech as Maid of Honor, her arm brushes against his, the simple act setting his nerves on fire with feelings he'd rather leave unnoticed. He keeps his gaze trained on the tablecloth in front of him, peeling the edges off the label on a bottle of beer, telling himself to ignore the almost searing magnetic pull between them (though he's not at all successful in fooling himself; in spite of himself, in spite of their history, he _wants_ to look at her).

He looks up and their gazes lock just when Rory is saying something almost poetic about fate and opportunity and life coming full circle and he thinks that - besides the fact that she seems to have harnessed her public speaking skills - she is talking about the two of them more than anything or anyone else.

But then, Jess has to remind himself that he doesn't believe in fate.

(_"You don't?" Johanna asked him once, running a finger lightly up and down his bare arm. _

_"No. Coincidences, maybe. Taking chances, opportunity. But I don't believe in fate." He watched as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, fascinated by the sight. _

_"Pity," was all she said in response._)

"- so I guess all that's left to say," he can hear Rory's breath hitch at exactly the moment his gaze settles on the flush of her neck and he idly wonders if he really believes that much in coincidences anymore. Jess raises his eyes to meet hers and ice blue softens into a shade that's more welcoming (and far too reminiscent of the night they shared). She doesn't look away this time, keeps her gaze locked on his as she raises her glass to signal the end of her toast. Her smile is hesitant, unsure. "I guess all that's left to say is congratulations Mom and Luke. May I speak for everyone when I say, _finally_."

Choruses and echoes of 'congratulations' and 'finally' follow and Rory smiles but her lips are quivering and her eyes are shining and when she tilts her head back to swallow some champagne, she rests her hand on the back of her neck, a tell of her nerves. Surprisingly, he doesn't hate that he still remembers this about her. He does feel his pulse beat quicken and his chest tighten when his eyes follow the length and hollow of her neck to the dip at the base of her throat.

They need to talk. It is a fact that practically goes without saying; there's no way the two of them could get through this weekend without having the inevitable conversation concerning their...situation.

He drags his eyes back to her face. She's not looking away this time and neither is he, but Jess tells himself that this isn't fate; it's timing, coincidence, and a bag full of unresolved feelings.

(_"...I don't believe in fate," he assured Rory from behind the wheel of her car, ever-present smirk gracing his lips.  
_

_She smiled before licking the ice cream cone in her hands. "Good. Me neither."_)

Jess licks his lips and pushes the beer that he's been nursing off to the side, then pushes back from the table. He's only had a cup of water and a few sips of beer but there is still a dry, parched feeling persisting at the back of his throat and before he can change his mind or second guess his actions, he tilts his head in the direction of the inn, and watches, surprised, as Rory nods her head in unspoken agreement.

He knows they need to talk, clear the air, but that doesn't make him any less anxious about being in a room alone with her, not after the last time that happened. She looks away, for just a moment, and as he walks past her Jess overhears her make up an excuse to her mother about the champagne running right through her and she looks up just as he's heading inside. He watches as she slips the key to room #9 from off its hook and Jess holds his breath as he follows her upstairs.

He knows they need to talk (he just doesn't know how they could possibly begin to have that conversation).

* * *

Rory sighs, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and tossing the room key from one palm to the next, trying her damnedest not to look Jess in the eyes unless she absolutely has to. She isn't sure what she'll find, hiding in his gaze, doesn't know if she'll be equipped to handle it. (Chances are, she probably won't be.) They still haven't spoken - at least not to each other - but she can't think of anything to say that won't be the _wrong _thing, can't think of a way of breaking the silence without also breaking the spell they seem to be under. But she knows that if they go upstairs, and she uses this key, there will be no turning back from this moment.

But she also knows there is no way in hell they can possibly get through this weekend without addressing the palpable tension between them.

She closes the door to room #9 behind them and turns around to face him, her eyes flickering over his form, mouth parted slightly to say something, anything, to get this awkwardness over and done with. Her mind is struggling to come up with something to say that will help them move on from a moment two years ago they seem to be inherently stuck in when she realizes just how _close_ he is to her, and Rory wonders idly if she's ever longed for something physically within her reach as much as she's longing for him, in this moment.

And suddenly, Rory is struck by the alarming thought that maybe coming up here, with Jess, _alone_, wasn't such a great idea after all.

All at once, she is hit with how much she's missed him in their time apart, how much she regrets what they didn't have together, and that her heart is hammering wildly in her chest. If he doesn't hear it, he can definitely feel it beneath his fingertips. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but can't think of any words that would be enough to convey her conflict with their situation (past, present, and future). Her eyes slide shut when he kisses her, his palms coming to rest comfortably against her back. The kiss is both an unexpected and predictable event all at once. (Basically, she should have seen it coming.)

Rory hears herself gasp when his tongue slides across hers. He pulls her forward so that she is flush against him, canceling out all the extra space they've managed to put between them in the past two years, and she can feel every line and plane of his body, specifically the hardness of his groin. Her hands slide from his jaw to his chest, pushing his jacket onto the floor and working quickly to unbutton his shirt.

She pulls her mouth away from his for a moment, just a moment, when his hand moves across the curve of her hip to unzip her skirt, to exhale a shaky breath that cants across his skin and cause goosebumps. Her skirt falls to the floor and she nearly trips over the material as she turns, spins, and she isn't sure how or when it happened but he's sitting now - on the bed? she doesn't know, doesn't _care_ - and she's straddling him. His hands grip her thighs roughly, bordering on painfully. He groans as she grinds her hips against his and their kisses turn desperate as their hands seek out and search for warm skin.

She looks him in the eyes, her gaze unwavering, when she reaches for the zipper of his pants. (It's then that it hits her, how different they are now compared to who they used to be.) She doesn't hesitate to unbuckle his belt, doesn't bat an eye once she slides them and his boxers just past his thighs while impatiently tossing aside her own underwear and sinking down on top of him, a particularly loud (and embarrassing) moan escaping her lips as soon as they're connected

She rolls her hips towards his, melding her mouth to his and breathing out through her nose to make the kiss last just a little bit longer. He sucks on her bottom lip until she moans his name into his mouth. They fall into a frenzied rhythm as she twists and turns her hips to meet his thrusts. Her hands fall to his shoulders when he fills her completely. She thinks her nails are probably going to leave red marks on his skin but she _knows _there will be a bruise on her chest where her shirt has fallen open and he's sucking on her flesh, just at the swell of her breast. She cradles his face between her hands, her eyes shut tight, kissing him, tasting him, savoring him. For a moment, the only sounds she hears are their mingled moans and sighs and groans, cocooning them in a world all their own. She can't think of anything beyond this room, can't think of consequences or meanings or whether or not this will be considered their second one-night-stand - a thought that makes her eyes sting with tears - but then, he gasps her name like it's the last and only word he'll ever want to say and she thinks she finally (god, _finally_) understands the meaning behind the phrase _"hurts so good"_.

* * *

The second time is a little less _"Unfaithful"_ - less panicked, less frantic.

He and Rory still haven't really spoken and Jess finds himself feeling strangely relieved. He can't think coherently, wouldn't be able to explain how a part of him still hates what she did, still resents her for using him, knows she still hates that he never fully trusted her enough to tell her the truth (about that fucking party at Kyle's house, about school, about his father, about himself) but somehow everything is evened out by the fact that this time, she didn't come to him expecting a distraction and he didn't seek her out looking for a chance at redemption.

This happened simply because they wanted it, because he couldn't sit two feet away from her and say nothing and not think about that weekend in Philadelphia and just...do nothing.

The second time, he says her name over and over until she looks him in the eyes (and he holds her gaze until they both come).

He doesn't know whether it is good or bad that he can't think of anything beyond this moment, can't remember a single detail of his life that has occurred before he followed Rory into this bedroom. (He doesn't think of Johanna, the night before she left for her own family thing, wrapping her arms around his neck and jokingly whispering, _"Behave yourself."_ He doesn't think of her, of that moment, now but he definitely will later.)

He isn't over her. (Did he really think he was?)

* * *

The third time happens when she is trying to say goodbye because she's lost track of time and doesn't know how long they've been missing (and whether or not their absence will go unnoticed). But the words _"we should probably get back" _get stuck in her throat and _"I think I still love you"_ is just waiting on the tip of her tongue - maybe she says it, maybe she doesn't - but she pushes past it, and buttons her shirt while trying not to look at him (and, of course, misses two buttons and has to start from the beginning again).

This somehow feels worse than how Rory felt when she left him three years ago, trying to pretend she can't feel him looking at her, watching her. Trying to pretend she can put herself back together without him. (She never can.)

_Maybe it feels worse because he's awake this time, _she thinks.

"Rory," he says, his voice gravelly and husky from not having spoken in awhile. There is too much history behind that tone, too many hidden meanings and unfinished moments and unfulfilled promises that she just can't handle it.

"Jess, we can't-"

The fact that they already have, twice, isn't what stops her from finishing that sentence.

The third time, she blinks back tears as she kisses him again.

She isn't over him. (She's an idiot for even beginning to hope that she was.)


	3. ache

you & i (entropy)

Summary: Getting over her was never easy, though he's beginning to learn that it probably never will be… And she tells herself she wants him to be happy - while she still has no idea why she can't let the idea of "them" go. Literati, AU, future-ish

**A/N**: oh man, it was not supposed to take this long to update. blame life. stressful, stressful life. this one's a bit shorter than the others, but, i needed to get this out. already working on chapter four. enjoy reading (and reviewing) all.

* * *

**i'm in love with you, but the vibe is wrong**

_His lips on her neck brought her back to the moment, telling her without words to come back to bed, back to him. She knew she needed to talk to him but the second she opened her mouth to speak, his mouth was on the base of her throat, his tongue darting out to lick the dip at the space between her collarbone._

_"Jess, I-" His mouth and tongue worked in tandem to do wonderful things, halting her thought process._

_"Yeah?"  
_

"_I'm just_…_" She exhaled, then sighed, almost breathless, her lips landing in a sloppy kiss against his neck.  
_

_Her legs were slung low around his waist, her arms looped around his neck and yet she couldn't seem to be close enough to him. Rory couldn't bring herself to feel embarrassed about the breathy moan that escaped her mouth as he shifted his hips against hers. "…I'm really glad we're here." She wanted - needed - to make sure that he knew that, more than anything else. She wasn't going to let herself regret this._

She isn't over him.

(She's an idiot for even beginning to _hope_ that she was.)

"Jess," she gasps, though by the time his name has fully left her lips it comes out sounding more like a strangled sob than the sigh it started out as. His arms are still wrapped around her waist, his palms splayed flat against across her back as she straddles him. He meets her gaze, his eyes questioning, searching, seeking something from her that she doesn't quite know if she can give, but before he can say anything she is crushing her mouth to his, kissing him deeply and roughly and hard enough to hurt, maybe leave a bruise.

"God, Rory," he groans and she can't tell if he sounds desperate or hopeful or something else entirely but there is something about the way he's saying her name that makes her tighten her hold on him and kiss him again, hands frantically reaching out in search of any part of him that she can touch. She knows that she must look ridiculous: her shirt is open, hanging off her shoulders; her skirt is pushed up around her hips; her hair is probably more matted than mussed. But she looks in Jess' eyes and it's as if none of that matters. "...Beautiful," he says, even though he didn't have to.

Her throat starts to go dry almost instantly, constricting from the effort of holding back tears Rory won't let herself shed (yet). But then, Jess rests one hand on her hip and the other on the smaller of her back, urging her closer and pressing himself further into her, his eyes never leaving hers the entire time.

Rory pulls her mouth away from his, with the both of them trying to catch their breath and she's resting her forehead against his and before she even realizes it, she's crying and he's saying, _"it wasn't supposed to be like this"_ - and even while she's wondering "_then what was it supposed to be like?"_ - she knows that he's right.

She's the first to leave the room. (She ignores the voice that's telling her she's always running away.)

Not because she wants to, but because one of them so obviously and so desperately _needs_ to. So she makes that decision for the both of them. (Again.) Rory doesn't think about the fact that maybe, possibly, she is punishing the both of them - just a little - him, for always being the one to leave when they were younger, by being the first to leave now. _Although, _she can't help but remind herself, _he's still got me beat 3 to 2._ And she's punishing herself, for never having the courage to say what she's _really_ feeling and thinking. Rory doesn't know if, ultimately, underneath it all, that's what she's doing.

She does know, however, that her willpower has basically become nonexistent around Jess and there's no way she can stay in this room another minute with him without it ending in round number four. It's pathetic, really, how she suddenly seems to be without a semblance of self-control.

The reality of what they've just done doesn't hit her until she's closed the door behind her. She's not cocooned in their own little world anymore; it's not just Rory-and-Jess, "catching up on old times" (the cliched thought makes her wince). It's Rory, Jess, and a complexity of issues that they always seem to conveniently ignore. And, of course, The Girlfriend.

She runs her hands through her hair, pushing a few errant strands behind her ears, and tucks her blouse into her skirt in an effort to hide the fact that it's now missing a button. She thinks she still smells a little like Jess, but she's hoping and praying that she's just being a bit paranoid and, even if she isn't, that her mother will be too excited and distracted by tonight's festivities and the reason behind the celebration to notice.

(Turns out, she's wrong.)

"Hey-" The wide smile that could probably serve as a generator for a major blackout falls from Lorelai's face the moment they look at each other. "Rory? What happened?"

"I-" Rory blinks, quickly shaking her head. "_Nothing. _It's nothing, Mom. Enjoy your party, please. I just need to-"

"It's _not_ nothing. You look like you've been crying. Rory, did you -" She stops, eyes narrowed as she takes in Rory's state of duress. "Did something happen with Jess?" Sometimes, she wonders if her mother truly is clairvoyant, or if Lorelai simply knows her that well.

Rory steps to the side, trying hard not to maintain eye contact. "I don't want to talk about it right now. It's your weekend and I don't want to ruin it."

"Rory-"

She interrupts, stepping to the side and out of Lorelai's reach, because she can't hear what her mother has to say, she _knows_ what her mother's going to say, and she isn't ready for it. She isn't. "I can't talk now-"

Lorelai stills her borderline erratic movements, with a hand on her elbow. "I know. But you obviously_ need_ to."

"I _can't._" She sniffs, shaking her head. "I need to go. I'll see you at home."

She makes it halfway through the walk home before the tears start to fall.

* * *

The reality of what they've just done doesn't hit _him_ until Rory's closed the door behind her, the sound of it slamming shut seeming to reverberate throughout the room that smells faintly of guilt, sex, and the floral arrangement sitting in a vase in the corner.

Jess doesn't know how long he sits there, clothes mussed and body slumped, in the middle of a rumpled bedspread in room #9, after she leaves. Jess sighs, before fixing his clothes and opening a window.

His pants are rumpled and his collar's crooked but he needs to get out of this room, away from yet another place that is now filled/overflowing with memories of her, of them and of the fact this is the second time they've met together in the capacity of something that started out as a seemingly innocuous meeting only to end with one of them coming out of it as a cheater.

_Shit. _

It's not as though he's a stranger to cheating, he won't deny this, but he's not a teenager anymore and thinking of _that_ - cheating - in the context of Rory and Johanna makes him ache in a way that he can't describe, because he doesn't think he's ever felt it before.

Jess closes the door to room #9 after making sure everything is back in its usual place. He assures himself he couldn't have been too long because people are still dancing, there are still presents that have yet to be opened, and it is nice to allow himself to believe the delusion that his presence has yet to be missed.

"Where the hell have you been?" Luke, of course.

Jess clenches his jaw, and turns around slowly to face Luke who's standing several feet in front of him, arms crossed in front of his perpetually puffed up chest, one eyebrow raised. "Bathroom."

"For an hour and a half?"

"I-" He runs a nervous hand through his hair. "Look, I don't have to make any important speeches until the actual wedding, right?"

"Jess-"

Whatever Luke says, or doesn't say, gets ignored when Jess catches sight of a slightly disheveled Rory speaking animatedly with Lorelai before walking off, heading, he knows, in the direction of their home. The sound of Luke sighing reminds him of his uncle's presence. "Jess... Don't do what I think you're doing. Or, about to do. Just, don't. Please."

By now, Jess is clenching his jaw so tight he swears he hears the sound of something popping. In spite of the fact that he's standing outside, he suddenly feels as though he could be suffocating.

"Where are you going?"

"...Left something back at the diner," he lies. It falls from his mouth awkwardly and in the face of his recent indiscretion, it isn't easy for Jess to lie in the face of the man who's given him nearly every chance he's never deserved. So he leaves. The celebration is still in full swing and save for Luke and his fiancee, Jess has a feeling his absence won't be missed or noticed.

He showers as soon as he gets back to Luke's old apartment. There is a lone, warped bar of soap that he says a prayer of gratitude he doesn't fully believe in. It doesn't help his guilt and Jess shuts the shower off, still soapy, before trudging into the living room to change.

There are several missed calls and three messages left on the voice-mail of his cellphone when he checks out of some impulse he can't control. Johanna's voice, quiet, unsure, like he's never heard her before, reaches his ears. (He isn't disappointed. Not at all.)

"Jess. Hi. I just wanted to let you know I landed. I'll...let you know how everything else goes." He thinks about what that means, exactly, before biting his lip and tossing his phone off to the side.

He runs his hands through his hair again before taking a breath and letting it out shakily.

What the hell did he just do?


End file.
